


shelter

by demios



Category: End Roll (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 12:37:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8489929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demios/pseuds/demios
Summary: “I want to help you. I hope you’ll let me.” At the time he felt it wouldn’t be so bad to believe in those words, if only for a moment.AU where Walter becomes Russell's guardian.





	

**Author's Note:**

> a drabble i decided to touch up, i would actually write a thesis on guardian walter and russell if i could
> 
> thanks again to ara for crushing my heart into tiny little bite-sized pieces with this au

It itches. There’s no gauze covering his neck to brush uncomfortably against it, but it itches regardless. That’s how he knows he’s healing, they explained. He shouldn’t scratch. That would open the wound and increase the risk of infection. It would also make a mess.

Yet a hand snakes up towards puffy skin and dark sutures, stopping just below his chin. To dig his nails into it would provide a momentary relief, a blooming pain that would counter the way his skin feels as if it’s crawling. His nose scrunches up as another bout of itchiness surfaces. Just one gentle rake of his fingernails over it wouldn’t do any real harm, would it?

“Don’t scratch it.” The voice comes from beside him, cold and callous with the single command. It’s Walter. His attention is still fixed on the road in front of him, but he somehow knows what Russell’s going to do. The boy can’t tell if it’s because he caught Russell in the act or if he has a sixth sense regarding the pristine state of his car.

Russell’s hand drops without a word.

He’s sitting in the passenger seat of Walter’s car as the other’s hands rest on the steering wheel.  It feels like ages since he’s been in a car. Before everything happened, he had taken to wandering around town like a stray cat. Only Yumi let him inside her squad car when she caught him out late at night. This is different from that, though.

Russell peers out of the window beside him. Instead of passing by shabby houses lit by dimming streetlights, Walter’s car slips into the nicer part of town. It’s only mid-afternoon, so Russell can clearly see how clean the apartments are. Russell has never been here. The buildings are all unfamiliar to him.

Walter doesn’t laugh and smile and ruffle Russell’s hair as he drives, tersely focusing on the road and quietly drumming his fingers every so often. Walter’s car doesn’t smell like cinnamon and powdered sugar, only the sharp tang of lemon from the air freshener hanging off the mirror. There’s no music from the radio to hum along to, either. Just the low murmur of the engine that fills the silence between them. Russell sighs and lays his head back against the seat, wondering if he’d be able to take a nap before arriving. This feels like a dream, anyways. Maybe if he falls asleep, he’ll wake up to another day in a hospital bed.

He has no such luck. The engine stops just as he’s closed his eyes, prompting him to open them again.

“We’re here.” The doors unlock and Walter steps out, one of the clean and unfamiliar apartment buildings within sight. “You can rest once we’re inside, if you’re tired.”

“Okay.” His voice still surprises him with how gravelly it is. Remnants from his failed attempt, leaving him only a mangled windpipe for his efforts. He was lucky not to have destroyed his vocal cords, the doctors told him. It wouldn’t have made a difference anyways, with how little he talks.

The apartment building looms before him, making his insides lurch. Walter is waiting for him. Shakily, he opens the passenger door.

-

Walter’s apartment is clean.

There aren’t any beer bottles lying around or stains on the floor. No ripped up newspapers or overdue bills scattered everywhere. It doesn’t smell like sweat and sex and alcohol, and there aren’t obscene noises coming from inside. It smells faintly of coffee and disinfectant, scents Russell has never associated with somewhere he can call home. If anything, it reminds him of the hospital again.

But this isn’t to say it _feels_ like a home. It’s barren, perhaps even more than the sparsely furnished house he lived in for fourteen years. What pieces of furniture that do exist in the rooms are in muted colors and appear untouched. It’s as if Walter himself barely lives in here.

Before he can form a thorough opinion, Walter’s hand on his back lightly nudges him inside the entryway, the man in question sparing him a critical look. Well, Walter’s face always looks like that, so Russell doesn’t pay it any mind.

He’s ushered inside as the door closes, and the click of the lock reminds him of the grim reality. He’s trapped here now.

His heart drops.

The idea of living with the researcher seemed abstract at best, until he was actually confronted with it. It just seemed like the most logical option at the time. His aunt refused to take him, which didn’t come as much of a surprise. Despite the hefty compensation from Dreamsend, he wouldn’t want to let a murderer live in his home, either. That’s fine. He didn’t particularly like his aunt anyways.

There was also the issue of his criminal record, which would make it difficult for anyone to want to take him. So it seemed like the only choice, aside from trying to die again. Facilitation from Dreamsend allowed the process to go much faster, since they had a hand in his rehabilitation. Walter’s part in the dream worked in his favor for consideration as well. A number of interviews and guardianship forms later, and that was that.

But taking advantage of Walter’s kindness, however scarce it may seem, makes him feel guilty. He’d been trying to quash the feeling as best he could to no avail. What roots have already embedded themselves in his chest only worm deeper at the thought. Would it be too late to run out of the door?

He doesn’t belong here, in this nice apartment. He doesn’t even belong outside of the hospital. (Really, he belongs in a morgue somewhere. It’s much more preferable, but he’s never able to get what he wants, is he?)

Should he be happy? The thought of spending his days here doesn’t draw forth anything save for the thought that he doesn’t deserve this. A brief wave of nausea washes over him upon remembering what transpired weeks before. What he deserves is to repent for his sins. If _they_ couldn’t live freely because of him, why should he be able to? It doesn’t make sense.

The boy is pulled out of his thoughts as Walter walks further inside. As much as Russell would like to simply leave, he fights the urge and hesitantly trails after him. Walter rounds the counter in the kitchenette and opens the fridge when Russell catches up to him. “Would you like something to drink?”

Russell shakes his head. Just being here is enough to feel like he’s imposing.

Walter doesn’t yield easily, though; his gaze is stern as ever. “You haven’t had anything since this morning. I was with you the whole time.” His attention turns back to the contents of the fridge. “Water, orange juice, or milk? Or champagne, if you’d prefer.”

Sometimes Russell wishes the other wasn’t so observant. “Water.”

He takes the opportunity to sit at the small dining table, one that only has two chairs. Russell gets the impression that Walter doesn’t invite friends over often. Walter places a cup in front of him before settling in the seat across from the boy. In his hand is a glass of champagne that he takes a sip from. Russell takes his own cup between both hands and follows suit.

He’s aware of the silence creeping between them again until a sigh leaves the older, causing Russell to place his cup back down. “So, as your guardian, I’ll have to establish a few ground rules. I don’t expect much, truthfully, since I won’t be here most of the time. But I trust you’ll be alright on your own.”

Russell is unfazed by the sudden proposal. Walter is an efficient person, finding no need to waste breath on unnecessary pleasantries. In a way, it makes Russell feel more at ease. At least he knows what Walter wants from him. That made him more honest than most adults. So Russell listens on, digesting a series of curfews and limitations on bad behaviors listed between cautionary measures. “If you need to contact me, just call my work phone, which is…”

Normally, he associates these kinds of rules with teachers. They’re just white noise to him. But he tries his best to remember, since it’s the least he can do. While listening to the lull of Walter’s voice, what comes to mind is the conversation that sparked all of this.

Life at the hospital was tortuously slow, but visits from those at Dreamsend helped the days pass by. Other than that, he could only watch as the world unfurled around him. Therapy and treatments were accented by the occasional bit of news about his custody status. He tried not to think about what dismal future was sprawled before him, despite how it permeated each suffocating breath.

When Walter offered to let him live with him, Russell remarked that he didn’t look like the type to care for children. The researcher only agreed, but pointed out that Russell didn’t exactly act like a child.

When asked for his reason for even considering the possibility, the researcher spoke carefully. “ _You’ve been given a second chance, Russell. You may use it however you like; I only want to ensure you use it wisely._ ” Russell found it odd. No one had ever cared about his future before. “ _I want to help you. I hope you’ll let me._ ” At the time he felt it wouldn’t be so bad to believe in those words, if only for a moment.

“Any problems?” His new guardian finishes with a sip from his glass.

“No.” To make any kind of fuss would be ungrateful, even if he didn’t ask for any of this. He doesn’t want to further the guilt.

“Right. If there’s anything you need, or if you've questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Russell meets his eyes, expression flat. “Aren’t you worried I’ll kill you, too?”

He knows it’s uncouth, a question that could even sound like a threat, but he can’t help himself. Just be rid of me now, you didn’t have to burden yourself like this. You’ll surely get hurt, too, because that’s all I’m capable of.

A pause swallows the room, one that makes a heavy dread settle in the pit of Russell’s stomach. He’s right, isn’t he? That Walter hadn’t thought about it. Everyone seems to forget that just because he’s young doesn’t mean he hasn’t done terrible things. Walter will come to regret his decision sooner or later. Russell knows this.

Then, a wry smile touches Walter’s lips. “If I thought you would kill me, I wouldn’t have let you into my car, much less my home, would I?”

Russell doesn’t say anything at that. The tension in his gut uncoils the slightest amount, stiff shoulders relaxing when he didn’t even know they were locked.

The researcher holds out his glass of champagne, extending it towards Russell. “A toast, then.”

“To what?”

“You're here, aren't you? Congratulations, Russell.” Walter waits, expectant.

Russell’s hand brings the cup to the other's glass, gently clinking it against Walter’s. It doesn’t feel like much of a celebration, but it doesn’t feel entirely unpleasant.


End file.
